Name
by LawliPop
Summary: Touch me on the inside part and call me my name. [MalikxBakura] [Oneshot]


_A/N: __This is my attempt at a Stream of Consciousness. It is in Yami no Bakura's point of view, just so you all know. _

_**Pairings:** Malik Ishtar x Yami no Bakura; hint of Malik Ishtar + Ryou Bakura_

_**Warnings:** Shounen-ai/Yaoi. Mentioned sex. _

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Yuugiou. _

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_.Name._

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I like to watch him sleep. 

It's a hobby – or maybe an obsession; I don't know. Am I obsessed with him? Maybe. But it wasn't always like that. I used to hate him. I still hate him, I think, deep down.

He was going to kill me. We were enemies and he was going to kill me, kill me with that secret, shiny weapon he kept hidden from everyone – everyone except me, because I knew about it, like I know about all of the Items. He was going to kill me. I decided I'd kill him first, before he got the chance. He'd never expect it, and before his eyes could widen in surprise, he'd be dead.

_Dead._ Dead like my heart. Dead like my body. Dead and forgotten, like my name.

I snuck into his room. The automatic doors slid open obediently, making little noise. He was on the bed, sleeping – or resting, I don't know; maybe he knew I was there all along and was just pretending to be asleep – and his back faced me. In the dim lighting he reminded of a star, shining brightly in the shadows of the room – the shadows that clung to me, concealed me, as I entered and approached.

I stood over him, had the knife poised, ready to strike him right in the head. Boom. Just like that. That little shiny star would be extinguished for good. Painful way to go, I figure. Knife in the head. Though nothing really compares to the torture fate bestowed upon me. I suppose I'd rather take a stab if I had to choose between that and being sealed into a cursed Ring.

It wasn't the first time I'd killed anyone.

There were many times before – the most recent death by my hands occurred several days ago. Some little punks – three, I think - tried to duel me. Thought they could win. The Shadows feasted on their souls that night. I laughed at them. Mediocre duelists. It wasn't even a great pleasure to do them in, but at least their deaths earned me my spot in the Semi-Finals.

The first time I killed was erased from my memories. But I know it happened. I can still smell the blood on my hands, the blood of someone I can't identify, the blood of someone with no name.

No name... Maybe I was my first murder.

It wasn't the first time I'd killed anyone, and I figured it wouldn't be the last. I wasn't afraid to kill. I wasn't afraid of consequences. Already by this point in my life – can I even call it a life? What I do barely qualifies as living. Existence, I suppose. Existence. Just existence, not life. By this point in my existence I knew I was going to Hell when I died. If there even is such a place; if I ever can be put to rest.

Sometimes I wish for the end.

I didn't fear the consequences of my actions. If anything, I was excited to kill him.

But as I brought the blade down, he shifted unexpectedly and faced me. His eyes were concealed behind dark lids, and by the relaxed expression on his face I could tell he was definitely sleeping.

I was spellbound. I have yet to discover whether or not he had cast a hex of some sort on me. Knowing him, he most likely did. But whatever the reason, I was frozen. I could do nothing but stand there, the knife still in my hand, and watch him. Watch as his chest rose and fell with each inhalation and exhalation of breath. He looked so alive then. I'd never felt so dead.

His lips gently parted, and I noticed a candy-pink tongue slip out to moisten them once before retreating back into his mouth. It was a simple action, but it seemed so seductive when he did it.

I felt warm, suddenly, hot. So, so hot. My body. My_ borrowed_ body. It felt so warm. Why did I feel so warm? I was only looking at him – him, who I hated almost as much as I hated the Pharaoh. How could he make me feel warm? Warmth is associated with those who are alive and young – two things of which I am not. I never associate warmth with myself. So how could he make me feel warm, alive, and young without even doing anything to try?

The shining star was radiating with heat, and like the cold ghost I am I greedily absorbed all that I could.

I liked feeling warm. Feeling alive. I hadn't felt that way in so long. I liked it a lot. I wanted it... more of it. More warmth, more heat, more life. I was a fire. My body was a fire ignited by the spark of one star in the night.

He tossed his head to the side, mumbling something. I didn't catch what he said at first, but I knew it was only one word that he uttered. Several moments later he made a slight groaning noise, and then said something that made all the heat disappear in an instant.

"...Bakura."

Bakura... _Bakura_.

The surname of my Landlord was so familiar to me. I always liked the name. In fact, I was so partial to it that I had taken to referring to myself as 'Bakura', even though it was not rightfully my name to take. In time, Landlord's friends began to associate the name with me as well. Whenever they said Bakura, they didn't mean my Landlord.

But he did. He wasn't calling out to me. His plea was for Bakura – the _real_ Bakura. The cry of the star was for the gentle moonlight, and only the gentle moonlight. Never for the ghost. No, never. No one would ever call for the ghost.

The ghost has no name to call.

I think it's unfair. Why should I be deprived of a name? I wanted one. I wanted one so badly. A name... a name... something awarded to all living creatures, yet denied to me. Alienating me from the human species. Making me even more of a ghost, a shadow. I want a name to call my own. A name others can call me. A name _he _can call me – cry out in his sleep as he did my Landlord's name.

To this day I am still uncertain as to what made me do what I did next. I have nothing to blame it on. But my mind was such a jumble of emotions that I acted without thinking.

Dropping my weapon to the ground, I reached out and took hold of his shoulders, jarring him into consciousness. In an instant his wide eyes were revealed to me. Amethyst gems glowing in the darkness. He was afraid at first, and I felt him shaking underneath my fingertips. And it made me warm again. Feeling him shake like that because of my touching him.

The initial fear in his eyes faded away, replaced by an unusual softness I could not identify with as he noticed who was sitting before him. He saw me, but I do not think he knew it was me. I believe he mistook me for my Landlord, and that is why he smiled and sat up and reached out to touch my face.

That touch... It made the warmth inside of me flare up into an intense inferno. I was on fire again. I was alive again with that touch. My eyes closed and I leaned into it, needing it. Needing the warmth. Needing the life that he unknowingly offered me.

I leaned closer. One of my knees was on the bed now, and shortly afterwards came my other knee. I kneeled before him, and he was still touching my cheek, and I moved my hand out to touch his. At our proximity he suddenly turned shy and drew back. I let go of his face and grabbed his hands. I put them to my face and closed my eyes at the warmth. Unbelievable warmth.

"Touch me," I whispered.

And I trailed his hands from my face, down my neck, and down so that his palms rested flat against my chest. His eyes grew wider. He stared at me questioningly.

"Touch me," I said again.

I moved the hands lower down my body, and his warmth followed them. My body was filled with heat. I felt arousal for the first time in more than three millennia.

"Touch me," I said again. "Touch me on the inside part."

And he said: "On the inside part...?" and his cheeks reddened prettily as he caught the meaning. "Bakura..."

I sensed his hesitance. Gripped his hands tighter and flashed him an insistent look. I think he realized then who I was, for he began to struggle and try to pull his hands away from mine. I only tightened my grip. My need would not be ignored. I would not let him tease me with this warmth and life and then take it away from me.

"Go away," he said, shaking his head as I pushed him back on the mattress. "You shouldn't be in here."

"You have to touch me first. On the inside part. And call my name. You have to call my name, too."

"You're crazy. Get away from me."

But I didn't get away from him, no I didn't. I tore his shirt away from his body and then I rid myself of my own shirt. The warmth of our flesh together was indescribable. So, so much heat. It still wasn't enough. It wasn't on the inside. He wasn't on the inside, where I needed him to be. I needed him to be there. I needed to feel complete and warm and young.

I don't know who got rid of the rest of his clothes, if it was him or me. It was one of us. I don't know who. But we were feeling each other everywhere. And the touches were so welcomed. Each one soft and hot and demanding and tentative. I couldn't get enough of it. I touched him back. Everywhere my hands could reach. He was hard against me, and I against him.

But he still protested: "Go away."

To which I said: "Call my name."

He shook his head, panting. His shining star bangs clung to his forehead and to the side of his face. He was sweating. I was sweating to. I didn't know what sweat was his and which was mine. He was on top of me now. Our sweat mingled. I liked the thought of it.

"No," he said.

My arms were around his neck. I held him close to me and pressed us together, and he moaned a delicious moan that I heard myself echoing.

"Please call it." I even promised, "I'll go if you call it."

The amethyst gems opened to stare down at me. I don't think he believed me. I don't know if he wanted to believe me or not.

I like to think that he didn't want me to leave. But I still don't know if it was me or my host that he was seeing. Who did he wish he was seeing? Did he want the moonlight or the ghost? I didn't know. I had to way of knowing. I still don't know who he sees whenever he's on top of me, inside of me. Is it the same person he saw that night?

"Bakura."

He said the name, but I did not go. Because it wasn't my name. Even if it was the name I had taken to calling myself, it still wasn't _my_ name. So I didn't go. He couldn't say my name because he didn't know my name. Because I don't know my name. Because I don't have a real name. Not anymore. He couldn't say my name so I didn't move from him.

Was he glad that he didn't know my name? Was he glad I didn't go? If I had gotten up and walked away would the shining star have cried for me? Or would he be glad? Would he be glad and save himself for the moonlight he so clearly adored?

I didn't know. I didn't know and I still don't know. I like to think he likes the ghost.

I grabbed onto his hips and forced our arousals to come into contact. It seemed to be the right move, for I got what I wanted from it. I got him to touch me on the inside. He touched me on the inside part and all of the burning heat inside of him entered my body. And I felt more alive than ever. I felt as if I had never died. As if I was never a ghost. As if my Landlord's body was really my own. As if I had a real life, and I was living that life with my shining star.

I came first, I was so overwhelmed that I couldn't last that long. I cried out his name. He came not long after, and he cried out as well. But he didn't say a name. Not any name.

That made me smile. At least he knew who I was.

He cried out to me, the nameless ghost.

We lay against each other, still warm, when it was over. He fell asleep against me, while my arms were still around him. I looked down on him. He was shining again. Shining with that warmth and heat. That warmth and heat he had shared with me, that I would make him share with me again and again, every night for as long as I existed.

I watched him sleep that night.

I like to watch him sleep.

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_A/N: If anyone can guess what book inspired me to write this one-shot, I will give you... um... a cookie. And a lot of praise. Thanks for reading! Please drop a review... they make me feel good. :)_


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